


gravity of tempered grace

by bluebeholder



Series: Season 12 Coda Fic [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x12 Coda, Angst, Cosmic Metaphors For Love, Eavesdropping, Hopeful Ending, I SCREWED UP THE TAG I'M SO SORRY, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Shipper!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: After his latest near-death experience, Castiel is questioning everything. Dean is, too--until he overhears a conversation between Sam and Cas late one night that challenges all the things he's been pretending he didn't know.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Вся тяжесть благодати](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344761) by [vslvsct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vslvsct/pseuds/vslvsct)



> YOU WANTED A FOLLOW-UP, HERE’S A FOLLOW-UP. THIS SHOW CONTINUES TO WRECK MY HEART AND SOUL. 
> 
> Title is from "Iridescent" by Linkin Park. (Music is intrinsically linked to this fic: I made the mistake of listening to “A Thousand Years” while writing this and IT SHOWS.)
> 
> This is literally a direct continuation of the coda for last week’s episode. It contains a crapton of references, so you miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight wanna read that before reading this. (Link: [most sacred law](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9579716))

They orbit Castiel like satellites. He’s in the living room, sitting in a chair, where he’s been since they got back to the Bunker. In body, he’s whole, but something about his eyes says that there’s more broken here than his skin. Mary touches his hands, his shoulders, ruffles his hair; tries to remind him that he is not alone, that he is one of her boys. Sam, ever-practical, brings a blanket and a cup of coffee with whiskey in it. Dean hovers and hates it, hates that he can’t do anything to really help except stand beside Cas’s shoulder and make sure that he isn’t alone.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says once, softly, in a brief moment when Mary and Sam are out of the room.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean says in rough counterpoint and prays that Cas doesn’t take it for anger. 

Cas just looks at him, infinitely sad and infinitely grateful, and Dean knows that the angel understands what he means. It’s enough. Just like always, it has to be enough. 

He has a hazy memory, from somewhere in his broken years of school and piecemeal trivia knowledge, of a love that dare not speak its name. Dean didn’t understand it then, and he’s not sure he does now, but the words seem fitting anyway. He can’t sit down and figure out how he feels about everything that happened in that barn. All he knows is that every time he hears those words echoing in his head—“I love you”—he feels like he’ll collapse in on himself, collapse into the black hole Sam once accused him of being. 

So he stands by and he waits. It’s almost—it’s almost funny, when Dean comes to think of it: a long time ago, Cas said, “I’ll watch over you.” It had freaked Dean out then, for reasons he hadn’t been able to name. Now here he is, sitting in the corner as Cas dozes in and out of a fitful sleep, watching over him. Weird, yeah. But he can’t make himself leave. He doesn’t want to leave. 

“He’s all right, Dean,” Sam tries to tell him, when Dean leaves the room briefly to get something to drink. “He just needs rest—”

“He’s lying,” Dean says. He raises his eyebrows at Sam. “You really gonna believe his bullshit?”

Sam looks away, runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to sit there all night.” 

“Yeah, sure, I don’t have to.” Dean shrugs. He turns and walks out of the kitchen, pausing only to fill up a second glass with water, in case Cas wakes up thirsty. “But I’m going to.”

In the days that follow, the orbits don’t change much. Mary heads back out—Dean knows, now, where he got his restlessness and wandering feet—but neither Dean nor Sam feel inclined to go running back out onto the road. They’ve had enough, for a while. This was one close call too many. Dean can feel it in every weighty brush of Sam’s shoulder against his, every time that Sam picks up a book and then puts it back down, every time that Dean thinks about going down to the range and then finds that the gun is too heavy in his hands. They should be looking for the Nephilim, hunting down Crowley and demanding answers, preparing to battle another Prince of Hell—but they sit in the Bunker instead. They speak in soft voices about mundane things. They rest. 

Cas is quiet. It’s not unusual, but Dean notices that it’s different than usual. He’s not just quiet, he’s withdrawn. He stares at his hands. He sits in corners. It’s almost frightening, and Dean doesn’t like being frightened. 

He overhears a conversation one evening, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He was in the library, listlessly looking through possible cases, and he’s on his way back to his room when he passes the room that has become Cas’s by default. The door is mostly shut, but through the crack he’s surprised to hear Sam’s voice. 

“—about it?” Sam’s asking, in that compassionate voice of his that he usually uses on recalcitrant and scared witnesses. 

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “What do you want me to do?”

Dean can practically hear the shrug in Sam’s voice. “I don’t want you to do anything,” he says. “I just…we talked about it, you know? You can’t love humans. It’s a law. You were pretty damn clear about that, at least.”

The words hit Dean so hard it’s like he just took a punch to the jaw. He grips the doorframe for support and almost misses what Cas says next. “—beyond laws now,” Cas murmurs. 

“…beyond laws?”

“Yes,” Cas says, and the gravity in his voice pulls Dean in, makes him want to open the door and demand an answer to a question he’s not ready to ask. “I’m too human. The angels…Heaven…they’re right. I call you my family and it’s true. You’re more my brothers than angels have been in years.”

There’s the creak of mattress springs. Sam’s voice, when it comes, is muffled. “You’re as much my brother as Dean,” he says. “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Cas says, equally muffled. “What I said. It’s true. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Sam says, and chuckles weakly. “Don’t repeat everything I say.”

Cas sounds like he’s smiling. “I’ll do my best,” he says. 

After a moment, Sam says, “Do you plan to do anything about…you know…” He trails off. 

There’s another long pause. Dean leans slightly closer. He can’t see either of them, but he wishes he could. “I don’t know,” Cas says at last. “It’s still…”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You, uh. You sounded pretty sincere, back in the barn.”

Cas makes a pained noise. “I was,” he says. “I wouldn’t say things like that lightly.”

“Makes sense,” Sam says. “I mean, it was your last chance. You were…”

“Dying?” Cas supplies. “I think that was it. It was my last chance. I didn’t expect to survive.”

Dean wants to slam open the door so badly. He wants…lots of things, but he doesn’t do any of them. Instead he stands paralyzed, listening to this conversation in half-sentences and veiled comments, wondering what the hell is happening and what the hell they’re talking about. 

“He’s worried about you,” Sam says. 

“I know he is,” Cas says. “I wish I could do something to alleviate the worry.”

Oh. They’re talking about him. Whoops. He’s obviously not supposed to hear this. Dean stays standing there anyway. 

Sam snorts. His words are dry. “I’ve tried just about everything. Good luck with that.”

“There are things I could do,” Cas says, and he sounds so sad that Dean has to stop himself from bursting into the room. “But there are rules, aren’t there?”

“Yeah,” Sam says quietly. “You’ve told me.”

“I wish,” Cas says, and stops. 

“Wish what?” Sam prompts. 

Cas sighs. “I wish I knew what to do now.”

“All I know is that I think he’d listen if you told him,” Sam says.

There’s a sharp bark of laughter, angry and hurt. It takes Dean a moment to realize that it came from Cas, who hasn’t laughed in years. “Told Dean what? That when I said ‘I love you’, I meant him?”

Dean feels the entire planet fall out from under him.

He takes one soft step back, and then another, and then he turns and goes down the hall as fast as he can without making noise. As soon as he’s out of earshot, he bolts—running up and out to the garage. He gets in the car and just sits there, in the front seat, staring at the wheel and trying to think this through. Nothing comes, though. He just feels the gentle, ineffable pull of all the things he’s been shoving down for so goddamn long. 

He’s not ready for this. 

He wants it so damn bad. 

Finally, Dean gets out of the car. He steels himself, even though he feels like there’s no air to breathe, and walks noisily downstairs, stamping as hard as he can on his way to Cas’s room. This is what he does best. He pretends and he acts and he lies through his teeth, and even knowing what he knows now he doesn’t know how to stop. 

But he does know that Cas needs help. 

That, Dean can do. 

He knocks on Cas’s door—shut all the way now—lightly, as if he’s not sure if Cas is asleep. “Come in,” Cas says. 

Dean pushes it open. Sam’s gone and Cas is just sitting on his bed, trench coat folded on the chair with his tie lying on top of it. “Hey,” Dean says. “Wanted to check and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says. That’s a lie: he has circles under his eyes that look like bruises. 

“No, you’re not,” Dean says. God, this feels familiar. He’s done this before, hasn’t he? They’ve had this conversation before. This time it will be different. He crosses the room in two steps and before he can think about what he’s doing he sits down beside the angel. “Talk to me.”

Cas falls inhumanly still. “I almost died,” he says. “What is there to talk about?”

Dean shrugs. “Lots of things,” he says. He glances sidewise at Cas, who’s staring straight ahead like he can avoid Dean’s questions by not looking at him. “But hey, what do I know? Not like I’ve ever talked about dying.”

“Winchester stubbornness,” Cas mutters, oddly fond. 

“You’ve got it as bad as the rest of us, don’t lie,” Dean says. 

“I’m not—” Cas starts.

Dean cuts him off. “You’re our family,” he says quietly. “Said it yourself. I don’t know what that means to you, exactly, but what it means to me is that you don’t ever get left behind. We fight for you, come hell or high water.”

“I don’t understand you,” Cas says. “I’m…”

“Cas,” Dean says. He turns and looks right at the angel. “How clear have I gotta make this?”

Cas looks at him, and it’s like looking into the heart of a star. “I’ve been told I’m oblivious,” he says. “You’ll have to be very clear.”

“Anything you want to talk about,” Dean says, “anything you want to tell me, whenever you want…I’m here. I’m ready to listen.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Dean remembers a hundred moments like this, staring into Castiel’s eyes. They’ve always been charged. This one is no different. 

“When I’m ready,” Cas finally says, “I’ll tell you.”

“Okay,” Dean says. They haven’t passed the event horizon yet. He still has time. “Good.”

He doesn’t move to leave, though, and Cas doesn’t seem inclined to ask him to go. 

After a while, Dean rests his hand atop Cas’s, where it rests on the bedspread. 

A little while after that, Cas turns his hand over and twines his fingers with Dean’s. 

Dean settles into a new orbit. It’s a little closer to Cas, and it’s a little more stable than it was before. It’s not so different. He doesn’t think Sam notices, and Mary certainly doesn’t. But Cas knows, and when they’re ready, they might not need to keep a distance between them anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Help me.


End file.
